Quebec City was designed to be an imposing city. Perched on a steep hill above the Saint Lawrence Seaway, behind 17th-century ramparts, the city's streets are narrow and cobbled – no room for a road-guzzling 21st-century recreational vehicle.
At least, that's what I thought when I planned an ambitious solo RV road trip through Eastern Canada – from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Montreal – that would take me through one of the oldest European cities in North America.
The streets of colonial towns weren't my only mental hurdle when I set off in May to take advantage of a six-day “relocation” deal to rent an RV for $39 Canadian per night (about $28 U.S.) with Canadian company CanaDream; the company's trips normally start at $136 per night.
When RV companies need to relocate their vehicles seasonally, they often offer transfer or one-way trips at discounted rates. RV rental company Cruise America calls them “one-way specials,” which recently included 75 percent off a July trip from Las Vegas to Orlando. El Monte RV's one-way deals have recently featured departures with 30 to 90 percent discounts.
Calgary-based CanaDream distributes its fleet to seven locations across Canada. When it comes to relocation plans, the company sets the vehicle and departure and arrival dates. Renters pay for gas, groceries and campground access in addition to the discounted vehicle.
RV travel rose in popularity during the pandemic as North Americans discovered the convenience and privacy of bringing a home along on the road. As someone who makes a living traveling light, I found this style of travel to be burdened, sluggish, and sapping of spontaneity.
What I experienced on my first RV trip, six nights and nearly 800 miles, was a driving adventure, a test of my independence, and an introduction to slow-lane travel.
Driving school
Before entering Halifax, I had watched a video about my vehicle – the 22-foot Deluxe Van Camper – that introduced the many gauges that monitor power, waste and water. My sense of responsibility only grew once I got the keys and began my journey.
The two-person Deluxe Van Camper, while small for a motorhome, was taller, longer and less maneuverable than the motorhomes I've driven before – which is to be expected from a vehicle that allows you to stand upright comfortably (the interior height was 1.90m).
The apartment on wheels had a bathroom with a hose on the faucet that also served as a showerhead; a galley kitchen with a microwave, stove and small refrigerator; and a sofa in the back that converted into a permanent queen-size bed. Storage spaces, cabinets and drawers contained removable blinds and amenities that seemed indispensable to me – namely bedding, towels and kitchenware that cost $175. A skylight and ceiling fan provided air circulation at night.
As I set off after stops for food and drinking water (the water on board is not potable), I was immediately greeted by what I called the “RV Symphony,” a soundtrack of clattering dishes and clinking silverware, punctuated by the squeaking of wooden cabinets.
Since I was aware that you need more space to brake in a motorhome, I drove like an A student who had just finished driving school: I kept my distance from the vehicles in front of me, drove slower than the speed limit and looked for secluded, traffic-free places to park.
Although I became more confident in my driving every day, my pace was deliberate, as I followed my instinct to never drive for more than 90 minutes at a time. Sightseeing breaks relieved the concentration that driving required.
Tidal Adventure
The first two days I circumnavigated the Bay of Fundy, where the world's highest tides reach up to 16 metres. A few hours from Halifax, I followed signs to the Joggins Fossil Cliffs (free), a UNESCO World Heritage Site where the tides have exposed the fossil remains of a 300-million-year-old forest along cliffs about 30 metres high.
I crossed the border into New Brunswick and continued along the north shore of the bay to a campsite at Ponderosa Pines Campground ($70). It borders Hopewell Rocks Provincial Park, one of the province's biggest attractions with its tide-sculpted rock columns.
My quiet lakefront campsite, like all the RV parks I've visited, had electric and water hookups, a fire pit, and a picnic table.
In the morning, awakened by the cries of Canada geese, I took a one-mile forest trail from the campground to Hopewell Rocks (entrance fee $15.85).
Just before the park opened at 9 a.m., the tide peaked, engulfing the park's more than 20 freestanding rock pillars – monoliths eroded from mainland cliffs – with water. As the tide quickly receded, a visitor to the park pointed out the rock profiles' resemblance to people.
“There are many indigenous legends about people turning to stone,” he said, echoing the indigenous Mi'kmaq legend in which an angry whale turns runaway slaves to stone.
From Hopewell Rocks, a half-hour drive past barns and fields leads to the waterfront town of Alma, just outside Fundy National Park. Tiny Alma has a number of restaurants near its working marina. At the Alma Lobster Shop, I enjoyed a combination of salty lobster roll and seafood chowder ($29) at a bayside picnic table next to sun-bleached whale bones.
Since I had about three hours to visit Fundy National Park (admission is $9), I stopped at the ranger station to get advice on a quick tour. The staff seemed used to this question and directed me first to the Dickson Falls Trail, where I was to hike a nearly one-mile loop through a lush, fern-filled gorge split by the stone cascade. Further down the shore, I followed the pine-shaded Shiphaven Trail along a river mouth where shipwrights once built schooners on a gravel bar.
Back in the RV, I set off on a two-hour drive—interspersed with a few bird-watching stops—to my next campsite in the provincial capital of Fredericton. On the St. John River, Hartt Island RV Resort was quiet in spring, its water park still waiting for warmer weather ($60). Several riverside spots away, my closest neighbours were a pair of backpacking cyclists from England.
I built a campfire with dried leaves and watched diving ospreys, soaring eagles, and paddling loons as the temperatures dropped with the sunset.
Local encounters
A former British garrison, Fredericton is full of fascinating 19th-century buildings that left me yearning for a more maneuverable ride through the city's streets. But I ventured to visit the next morning, at 7 a.m., while parking was still available, for the city's famous Fredericton Boyce Farmers Market.
The weekly Saturday event attracts more than 200 vendors selling everything from local produce to samosas from food trucks. The best provisions of the trip came in the form of aged cheddar from neighboring Prince Edward Island ($10), a loaf of sourdough bread ($8) and spinach pies ($2 each) from a Lebanese vendor.
Before leaving town, I arranged to meet Cecelia Brooks and Anthony Brooks, a mother-son team who lead Indigenous-perspective forest walks through their company Wabanaki Tree Spirit Tours ($60). We met at Odell Park, a 400-acre swath of old-growth forest just minutes from downtown, and began burning small amounts of marigold to honor the giant hemlocks, some of which are more than 400 years old.
We strolled through the forest for more than two hours, stopping frequently to talk about plants and fungi used by the First Nations as medicine or food, and to sample the balsam fir tea and homemade acorn biscuits that Mrs. Brooks, who is Mohawk and Wolastoqiyik, carried in a basket.
“The elders say the Creator has given us everything we need,” she said.
Quebec, with and without plug
In Rivière-du-Loup, on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River, between my spot at Camping du Quai ($39) and the water was a seasonal Christmas castle with a giant Santa Claus sculpture.
Seeking a better view, I joined locals waiting for sunset in camping chairs at Parc de la Pointe, a boulder-strewn beach park a 30-minute walk down the coast.
The next morning, I filled up the water tank and drove to Quebec City and the Bassin Louise RV Parking in just over two hours (with a short break). I reached the public parking lot in Old Port near the city walls, bypassing the busy city center.
Bassin Louise offers boondocking, or RV camping, but without electricity or water. As a woman who sleeps in her car in the city, I closed the blinds for the duration of the stay. So did the occupants of dozens of RVs and vans around me. The parking lot seemed quiet, but having met the French-Canadian couple in an RV next door, I knew that if needed, help was just a honk away (overnight parking is $75, according to the parking lot's website, but the on-site kiosk charged just $16).
Aside from spending ten times as much for a hotel within the walls, I couldn't imagine a better location, just a five-minute walk from the tourism office where I joined a two-hour walking tour booked through GetYourGuide ($26).
“I love my city,” said Hélène Lemieux, the guide who led our group of 12, most of them from the United States, past the city’s landmarks while recounting the city’s history beginning in 1608, when French explorer Samuel du Champlain arrived to establish a trading post.
The British took power after a decisive battle in 1759, and Ms. Lemieux helped us distinguish French buildings – with small windows, rough stone facades and dormer windows – from English buildings made of rectangular stones. She seemed to delight in taking us where other groups had not gone, including to the back of Quebec's 17th-century seminary.
She ended the tour in a deserted alley and said, “If you see a small passage, go in!”
City traffic
The last hurdle was getting the RV safely to Montreal. A three-hour drive – with one break – during rush hour. It was the final, nerve-wracking challenge.
I didn't miss the Symphony RV when I took an Uber to the airport. But I did miss my RV the way you miss a great campground. Bringing all the amenities of home – including a bed, bathroom and kitchen – along on the road seemed like a luxury. And it was; gas, which cost about $285, was almost as much as the vehicle, which cost $290.
Overall, the moving deal saved me over $400, and the RV itself forced me to slow down, stop often, and potentially see more.
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